I perch on the edge of the bed, the length of my pale gown skimming the deep fibres of the rug below. I am still utterly engaged by my feelings for my guardian, and the way my body has reacted to him. I sigh deeply, and take a sip of water to my drying throat, feeling the soft whir of the energy inside of me. Never before have I experienced such odd emotional reactions to someone, but then, never before has anyone ever been so bold and honest around me. Lord Markham—Thomas—is most unlike any gentleman I ever met before.
I sit this way for some moments, entranced by my own internal monologue as I replay pieces of the interaction in the library. I recall his proximity, and the intoxicating scent of his hot breath upon my neck. I remember the feeling of his fingers on me; in my hair and trailing down my shoulders. Even now, I feel my nipples budding into hard little knots at the thought of it.
My deliberations are interrupted by a soft knock at my door. It is gentle, and yet I know instinctively that it is not Lucy.
My heart has picked up its own relentless rhythm as I answer. “Yes?”
The handle of the door lowers slowly, and I see it open a small fraction of the way into the room. I jump to my feet, aware that this is definitely not Lucy. No servant would ever enter without introducing themselves. The door opens wider to reveal Lord Markham standing in the doorway. The knot of excitement in my belly twists, sending the air rushing from me.
“My Lord?” I say, hearing the tremble in my voice. “Thomas?”
He smiles knowingly. “Lydia…” He breathes my name, speaking it as though it is the air he needs to live. “May I enter?”
I pause, knowing that I should refuse him. No decent lady should intentionally invite a gentleman into her bedchamber, and yet both of us know that I am about to do so. “Yes, Thomas,” I hear myself say, and I watch, enraptured, as he steps forward, closing the door tightly behind him.
He stands there, the image of handsome, towering over me in just his breeches and dress shirt. “Forgive me, Lydia,” he breathes, already striding over to where I stand waiting. “I know I should not have come here, and yet, I know it is what we both desire.”
His hands find my hair, drawing his digits down its free length and gently pulling my head backward. “Look at you,” he whispers from over me. “You look even more entrancing with your hair this way.”
I close my eyes at the compliment, willing his touch to continue. His fingers hold my head still, whilst his other hand is free to roam the length of the thin fabric against my skin. He moves closer to me, pressing his breeches against me. I am lost utterly to the feelings; the sensation of his warm skin enveloping me, sending out shockwaves through my tightly wound body. He twists his hips inward, and all at once I am privy to the hardness at his groin.
“Lydia…”
The sound of my name draws my eyes open once again, and I find him right there with me. Those green eyes drilling into me.
“Thomas, I…” The words catch in my throat at the sight of him. “I do not know what to do…” I sound pitiful, desperate and I mean to reproach myself.
He smiles at me, his eyes warm, but no less hungry. “You need only obey, Lydia,” he reminds me, the words now nothing short of a carnal threat.
I flush, suddenly panicked at what he intends. “My Lord, I cannot… I mean, I want to, but I must not!” I have heard whispers of the sensual act played out between gentlemen and their wives, but know none of the details. The pulse at the apex of my thighs though gives me an idea of what Lord Markham may have in mind.
“Hush,” he says, using his left hand to spank my behind gently as he speaks. “A cad I may be, but I am not a total fiend, Lydia. I mean not to take you that way, although by God I do desire it.” There is a low, erotic sound to his voice that seems to liquefy my insides.
“Then what, Thomas?” I ask, allowing my hands to explore his back and shoulders for the first time. “What do you intend?”
He smiles. It is sensual yet innately predatory. “I promised you a spanking for pleasure, My Lady, and that is exactly what you will get.”
“For release?” I ask, feeling myself tremble against him. “I have never…”
He halts my words with a second, much firmer swat to my backside. “Yes, release,” he murmurs into my hair. “Sweet, hot release, Lydia. But first you must earn it, and you will do so over my lap.”
He pulls me toward the bed, and I move with him unthinkingly. In a flash he is seated there, and I am standing before him, flushed and panting. “Remove your nightgown, Lydia.”
His voice is almost hypnotic, and yet I hesitate, stunned at the request. “Thomas? I am bare beneath it.”
“I am counting on it,” he smirks, appraising me. “Now, do not keep me waiting, Lydia. Take off the gown.”
I swallow hard, watching him. Is this really what I want? Only maids have seen me bare in the past, and even then only for brief, fleeting moments. Can I manage the ignominy of Thomas Markham doing so now?
“Lydia?” His tone is deeper and clipped, and instinctively it makes me move. I scurry to remove the garment protecting my modesty, fingering the sleeves until the dress drops from my body to a pool at my feet.
I stand nude before him, the man who has become not only my guardian, but the centre of my entire world. I pull the air into my mouth, intoxicated by the way I feel. To be this way with Lord Markham is wrong, and yet it seems we are both compelled by the sensations which have led to this moment. I am anxious, and almost fearful; the most vulnerable I have ever been in my life. At the same time, I am oddly empowered by the experience. I look up, daring to gaze into his eyes, and I see the fire in them, aware that it burns only for me. The thought makes me feel wild and wanton—quite unlike the Lady Franklin I have always been until now.
“I should not be seen this way, My Lord,” I whisper. “Only my husband should see me bare.”
Thomas opens his mouth to reply, and yet for a long moment there is no sound. Eventually, he finds the will to speak. “You are exquisite, Lydia.”
I pant at his words, caught completely in the contradiction of this bizarre occurrence. I must not do this; I should not allow it, and yet I want him to spank me again—of that there is no doubt. I have been consumed with the memories of both the spanking I had witnessed, and the one which I had experienced at his own hand. The idea that I might never feel the weight of his palm against my bare backside is suddenly all too much.
“Come to me,” he says, his voice an ocean of calm in my stormy skies.
I take a step forward, feeling the warmth of the candles away to my left, and my feet against the rug as I go. I swallow as I approach him, now just inches from where he sits.
“You would like for me to spank you, yes?”
I look to him, as though hypnotised by the very idea. “Yes, although I confess, I do not know why I should desire such a thing.”
“No one knows why they desire the things which drive them, and yet drive them they do.” His right hand reaches for me, grabbing my left arm and gently pulling me into the space between his breeches. Even sitting upright he is so tall that his face very nearly meets my own. I stand just a few inches above him, falling into the mesmerising green of his eyes. “Will you trust me, Lydia, to bring you pleasure?”
I gasp, aware all at once of the precipice at which we stand. Should I agree, things can surely never be the same between Lord Markham and me. I wonder, as my nipples tighten into hard knots before him, if things ever could now whatever I say? “I do trust you,” I respond breathlessly.
He smiles, releasing my arm and drawing his hand down the length of my palm until it falls to my hip. I feel giddy at his proximity, painfully aware of how close he is to the summit of my desire. “Fold yourself over my knees,” he says, his voice even and full of quiet authority.
Instinctively I pause, looking to his eyes for the reassurance I need before I yield. He blinks up at me, holding onto his patience as he watches me closely. “Now
, Lydia, or I will be tanning your beautiful backside for your very wilful disobedience.”
I move, feeling the energy coursing through my body as I scurry to obey. I skip to his right hand side, so that my back faces the door to my bedroom, and then stretch myself out over his lap. I make use of the bed, resting most of my upper body and my head against my soft covers, whilst leaving my bare bottom upturned and defenceless over his legs. He shifts beneath me, his right hand instantly moving to my vulnerable cheeks and caressing the skin there.
“That’s right,” he soothes from over the top of me, “yet we both know that this is not the correct position for a wilful woman such as yourself, is it, Lydia?”
I freeze at his question, wondering to what he refers. “Thomas?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Place your head down over my lap, against the rug below should you need to rest it. That is the correct way for a naughty girl like you to be spanked, is it not?” He sounds excited as he instructs me, and the thought spurs me on. Whilst I do not want to leave the safety and comfort of my bed, I do not want to upset him either, so with some reluctance, I shift my weight, slowly moving so that my whole upper body now hangs over His Lordship’s lap as he commanded.
“Good girl,” he says, and I relish how pleased he sounds, despite the discomfort I find in the new position. I feel the warmth of his left hand against the small of my back, and then the other hand moves from its resting place at my backside. I brace, suspecting that the commencement of my spanking may now be imminent. “Tell me what you desire, Lydia?”
I hear his voice from over the top of me. It sounds like such a distance now. I hesitate, unwilling to once again vocalise the crude needs I feel. All at once the weight of his palm is upon me, creating a small wave of air, and then the loud crack as our flesh connects. I cannot help but gasp at the contact, the sharp sting warming my bare cheeks at once.
“Tell me, Lydia!” This is much less a question and more of a command. The intonation resonates within me deeply, especially as I find myself once again over my guardian’s lap.
“To be spanked, My Lord, Thomas,” I reply in a rush. “I desire to be spanked!”
He greets my words with a fresh strike. It connects with my sitting spot perfectly, catching both upturned cheeks and making contact with my most needy place below. The fresh sting rouses me, sending a gush of desire whipping through me.
“Is this what you need?” he asks, spanking me again, this time hitting the left cheek, and then the right.
Below him I squeeze my eyes shut, ready to absorb the sensations his hand offers, and yet somehow unable to process the utter denigration of finding myself completely naked and upturned over his lap. “Yes,” I whimper, almost at the same time that he spanks me again.
“Yes. What?” He punctuates his words with sharp swats to my backside.
“Yes, My Lord!” I reply in a gasp.
Three further spanks land in fast succession, each connecting with my sitting spot, and I suspect rather deliberately catching the throbbing wetness pooling at the summit of my legs.
“Thomas is sufficient for the time being, Lydia,” he replies, striking me again.
This time he connects solely with the wetness, eliciting a low groan from me. I am aware of the warmth, and the heat from the spanking, but also the growing desire I feel there. Each time his hand meets my need, it pushes me a little further from the pain and a little closer toward something far more pleasurable. “Yes, thank you, Thomas,” I just about say before the next spank lands against me.
My spanking continues over His Lordship’s knee. Any urge I had to resist, as weak as it may have been, is now extinguished. I hang over his body limply, my arms and hands resting against the rug next to my head. A new strike lands against my sweet spot, and with each I am moved just a fraction against the hardness of his body.
“Oh, Lydia, how you need this!” His voice purrs from behind me, and I am inclined to agree with the sentiment, although I find no words are willing to do the job.
His hand connects again—four hard swats which are perfectly positioned to further fuel the rising fire within me. “Yes, Lydia. You need this, and so do I. You need to be spanked, and I do so desire to spank you.”
“Yes, Thomas!” I push the words from my lips, my face pressed into the soft fibres below.
Above me my spanking continues. I feel the pressure as his palm connects relentlessly with my bare bottom, feeling myself lost to the sensation. I cannot tell now if it is the pain of the spanking, the ignominy of the position, or the contact with my pooling wetness which most drives me wild, but collectively it seems they all consort to shame me.
At some point he stops spanking the tops of my cheeks at all, and focuses all of his attention between my legs. The feeling this elicits is consuming, drawing my reality from everything except His Lordship’s hand and what is transpiring at my core.
“I am going to pleasure you, Lydia.” His voice sounds some way away, and yet I welcome the tone of the intrusion. “You will not fight me, but will surrender to the pleasure. Do you understand?”
He spanks me again, pushing my throbbing nub once more against his legs. “Yes, Thomas,” I scream, struggling to contain the new and unknown sensations occurring within me.
I feel his hand reconnect with my reddened flesh, welcoming the contact, even as it moves away and strikes me again. Never before, even in my most raucous dreams, have I imagined feelings like this. I am dangling literally on the edge of a very high ledge, hanging there perilously… just waiting to be pushed from the top.
“Yield for me, Lydia,” he orders from somewhere high above. “Yield!”
As his palm comes crashing down against my sitting spot yet again, the most unbelievable sensation overwhelms me. I let go, consciously falling from my ledge, and yet not caring one jot about it! Energy whips around my body. I feel my toes clench and my hands ball, and every single sinew of my body is focused on the pleasure exploding between my legs. A final swat lands, pushing my convulsing body into yet another realm. I know not what I say or do at this time, only that I feel safe and warm in this place, draped over the knee of my guardian.
He gives me leave to settle in silence, acknowledging the miraculous experience he has enabled with only a few soft caresses across my flaming backside. As I slowly recover, I become more aware of these ministrations, feeling his digits extending over my punished cheeks, and sliding gently down into my wet folds below. I tense, knowing instinctively where his fingers are heading, and knowing that I must not allow it.
“Yield, Lydia,” comes the warning from overhead. “You are mine now.”
My lips part and I mean to protest, and yet the sensation between my legs will simply not allow it. I feel one finger rub between my folds, parting me with astonishing ease thanks to the shameful wetness it finds there.
“My Lord?” I say desperately, caught between the disgrace and the exhilaration. “Thomas, please?”
“Hush,” he answers, continuing to explore me in a gentle and unhurried way. “I promise not to ruin you, Lydia, but you must give me leave to explore just a little more?”
I moan out loud at the impeccable caresses between my legs, marvelling at how His Lordship so perfectly creates them. He runs the long, lubricated digit from my trembling folds north toward my reddened buttocks. As he draws closer, he uses one hand to spread one of the cheeks, exposing my darkest place to his eyes.
“My Lord, no!” I say, arching my back at the strangeness of the feeling and trying to rise from over his lap.
My response is met with one hard swat to my already flaming behind.
“That is enough!” he snaps, and I still in an instant. “Have you heard what I have told you? You are mine now, Lydia. Mine legally, mine socially, and now you are mine in this new way. I have shown you pleasure—so much pleasure—and now I intend to explore some more of your body’s reactions. Now will you, or will you not, obey without my bin
ding you to this bed?”
His tone is hard, and I tense at the sound of it. Rueful to have made him cross so soon after he has empowered me with such pleasure, I sink back to the floor, resisting the urge to clench all of my intimate muscles as his exploration continues.
“Better,” he says, rubbing the edge of his right palm against my wet core. The feel of such a thing is nothing short of exquisite, and I am soon gasping for breath again over his knee. “Good girl, Lydia,” he says soothingly. “You have promised to trust me, so do so now.”
He draws his finger north again, pulling my left cheek wide to allow it access as it makes its way to the centre of my warmed bottom. Holding the cheek in place, he pulls more and more lubrication from the pleasured place between my legs, and drags it to the dark one between my cheeks. I pant below him, working hard not to move or protest at these new, foreign feelings. All at once I feel that finger circling my bud, pressing gently against the opening, as though testing it. I clench reflexively, uncertain of what he means to do, but sure that only truly wicked girls should permit such behaviour.
“Thomas, please!” I implore him, but my appeal is short-lived.
“One more word from you, Lydia, and I will have you gagged and bound. Then you will truly be at my mercy!”
I freeze at his words, imagining myself as he describes. The truly awful thing about it is that I swear the idea serves only to add to my lubricated core.
“Is that what you want?” he demands.
I shake my head dramatically, recalling his threat from just a moment ago… ‘One more word…’
“Good!” he says, not unkindly, but with authority, and within a moment I feel the digit back, pressing deeper inside of my behind.
Hanging over him, I am left panting with anxious anticipation. I dare not speak out again, knowing that he will no doubt carry out his threat, and yet I know not how I can bear this latest indignation. The digit delves deeper, pushing inside the most private part of me. At the same time, I feel another finger sweeping down to my swollen folds and pressing against them. He manipulates both digits together, opening me gently in both places, while I lay submissively over him. I say nothing further, but can barely breathe, my initial disgust soon dissolving into a new sweeping arousal. I know that if he so chooses, Thomas can have either or both of these places—there is little I can do to prevent him, and even worse still, I find that I may not even want to.
Taming Lady Lydia Page 13